Generally Fair
by wolfern
Summary: The world's largest urban warfare training compound. Forty British commandos are being hunted by an American battalion. The British have an ace up their sleeves: CHERUB. But so do the Americans, whether they know it or not. CHERUB, meet Alex Rider.
1. Chapter 1

**Generally Fair**

**Disclaimer: Thus, I disclaim.**

**AN: This story begins at the start of The General, by Robert Muchamore.**

The young man wearing a trenchcoat stepped out of his black Porsche onto the crowded footpath, shutting the car door behind him. Men and women swarmed around him in business suits, like so many bees in a hive, of which he was just another insect, just another stranger. Nothing to worry about, and nothing to draw attention. Ignoring them, he moved off the busy footpath and strode up the few steps to the entrance of London's Crowne Plaza Hotel.

Entering the heated building, he removed his black calfskin gloves, rubbing his hands slightly to warm them. From the entrance, he moved purposefully through the lobby to the pair of golden doors waiting at the other end. He reached out with a slender finger and pressed the up button for the elevator. After a short wait, in which his eyes flicked casually over his surroundings, the doors opened and the man stepped inside.

Arriving at the door to his room, he reached into one of his pockets and retrieved a plastic card. Deftly he swiped it, twisting the door handle when a green light flashed. He entered the carpeted room and slid off his shoes, leaving them beside the door. Almost as if predicting his presence, the phone on the kitchenette counter rang. When he picked it up, a cool female voice informed him of an external caller bearing the name 'Tom'. Grinning a little, he accepted the call.

"Hi Tom. What have you got for me?"

A beat. His eyes widened slightly.

"Really? How 'bout you come here and tell me all about it . . . Ten minutes? . . . Great."

He replaced the phone on its holder.

...

Tom arrived in ten minutes precisely. Alex greeted him at the door with a cup of hot chocolate – his favourite drink. The cup was accepted with enthusiasm and the two made their way to the sofa. Alex could see Tom was barely containing his excitement, so he humoured the other and, instead of making Tom wait as usual, let him inform Alex of the latest news.

Since learning of Alex's long involvement in the world of spies, Tom's obsession with espionage and the military had been awakened. The man kept his ears to the ground and always made sure to pass on any bits of juicy gossip he heard.

The latest news was of a recent initiative by the Americans to train their soldiers in urban warfare. There had been a few military exercises between various teams comprised of American soldiers. Now they had invited British troops to train on a joint military exercise, with the British acting as the enemy. A Ukranian, Kazakov, had been nominated as a British team commander. The interesting thing was that MI5 (fondly known as 'the Security Mob' by MI6 agents) had been secretly training orphaned children to spy, much as Alex had been. These kids were called 'CHERUBs'.

There was a rumour that Kazakov would be using ten of these teen-spies to gain an advantage over the Americans, against whom he held a private vendetta. Alex couldn't bring himself to be even slightly annoyed at anyone about the whole child spy thing, really. It wasn't as if MI6 had known about the other child spies, and it was all a long time ago – well, long enough for Alex to have become a legal adult.

Tom declared it would be a very exciting experience, and wouldn't it be nice for Alex to show Tom how a real spy worked? Alex wasn't sure, but Tom certainly was. If Alex didn't want to come, then that was his problem, and nothing to do with Tom, who would be going at all costs. Alex decided he should accompany Tom. Just to even the stakes on both sides. That was the only reason. Really.


	2. Chapter 2

Alex expertly brought his Cessna 162 Skycatcher in to land. One of the perks of having worked in MI6 meant that when he'd started working for them officially, he'd started receiving a hefty wage. Part of it was spent on flying lessons. At first, he'd flown like Dumbo without the magic of Disney. He'd almost crashed several times, but finally received his fixed-wing and helicopter licence after going through four instructors – the first three resigned, citing 'personal reasons'.

After coming to a complete stop, Alex contacted Air Traffic Control, using the radio.

"Attention, air traffic control. This is G-ERAZ on flight 358 from London. We have touched down and are taxiing to lane 33."

"Roger, G-ERAZ. From lane 33, proceed to hanger 42. Welcome to Las Vegas."

"Thanks."

The blond spy parked the plane in his designated hangar and climbed out. Tom followed him a few seconds later, bringing their luggage.

"Whew! It's hot here. Don't they have any air-conditioning?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "Why would they need one? Hangars are only used for storage."

Tom conceded the point, then helped Alex tie the plane down with thick chains.

From there, he and Tom made their way to Customs.

...

By the time the sun had reached its zenith, Tom and Alex had reached Fort Reagan in their dusty rented car. The line they were in barely moved while military vehicles poured through the express line beside them in a steady stream. As the two men waited impatiently for their papers to be checked, luggage searched and car inspected, Alex noticed a bus of what appeared to be school kids behind them. Presumably, these were the Cherubs.

Once inside the gates, Tom and Alex parked their car and walked with their bags to the entry plaza. They were followed by the kids from the bus.

Inside the large building, they were directed to a queue marked 'R'.

"Welcome to Reaganistan," a soldier greeted them formally. She asked for their papers and Tom handed them over with a grin.

"Is today really hot, or is it just you?"

She scowled at him. "I'm on duty."

Tom's face fell.

She attached their identity bracelets to their left wrists and ankles, and directed them on to the next checkpoint.

As they walked, Tom muttered sullenly that saying she was on duty wasn't _technically _a refusal. He was sure she was just confused by the strong feelings she had for him conflicting with her sense of duty.

From there, they made their way to another building, where they were supplied with a pack containing a wallet of $500 of Reaganistan currency, safety goggles, a safety manual, an emergency alarm and food supplies for three meals. They would have to use their Reaganistan dollars to purchase other provisions. Next, their identity bracelets were scanned and they were given a key and directions to their assigned accommodation, and a map of the 'country'.

After that, Alex, Tom and a few hundred other people were crammed into a giant auditorium for the final security briefing. An obnoxious teenager behind them remarked that he 'wanted popcorn'. Tom scoffed at the immaturity that he, as a grown man, would never display, and made a mental note to ask for a slushie instead of popcorn.

...

After the final security briefing, the crowd was herded to an outdoor grandstand where two army officers made their ways onto the stage. One of them stepped up to the microphone and began speaking.

"Citizens of Reaganistan, thank you so much for attending this town meeting. I am United States General Shirley. I am the commander of the fifteen-hundred-strong joint American-British military taskforce that has been sent to restore peace in your small country.

"The role of our taskforce is to support the democratically elected government of President Mongo and help to eliminate the terrorist movement. In particular we are searching for the Reganistani leader known as Sheikh McAfferty."

As a blurry picture of a man was projected onto a screen behind the general, Tom nudged Alex.

"That's a younger version of the guy with the bus of schoolkids!"

The general continued. "McAfferty is believed to be responsible for more than one hundred terrorist acts over the past three months. Our task is to arrest McAfferty and his lieutenants, seize their supplies of weapons and ammunition and bring a halt to their terrorist actions."

The general paused. Beside Alex, Tom was sniggering, imagining the old man, McAfferty, waving a machine gun around maniacally. A few crowd members clapped, and a couple shouted, "USA!"

"Unfortunately, ten percent of the civilian population supports and sympathises with these insurgents. No doubt this includes some of you sitting here listening to me now. We also believe that they have up to one hundred expert military personnel, trained by a foreign power.

"Over the next two weeks, my men will be conducting patrols and searches of your town, fighting terrorists and trying to stop the violence. We apologize in advance for any inconvenience caused. If you have any questions or –"

A huge bang and a ball of flame erupted from behind the seats. Down the grandstand steps ran a lady with 'blood' pouring down her face and a baby in her arms. A second blast shook the air and a siren began to wail.

The general spoke up over the screams of the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, it appears we are under terrorist attack. Please remain calm and return to your homes in an orderly fashion."

The audience, still shaken from the overly dramatic events, scurried off with their luggage in tow. Moving to a relatively clear spot, Alex and Tom used their map to find their new home. When he noticed the Cherubs travelling in the same direction as they were, Alex smirked in satisfaction. All the better to sabotage them . . . in the name of fairness, of course.

* * *

><p><strong>Nine reviews? How about we try for an even ten? (hint, hint)<strong>

**On a happier note, thanks to all those people who did review! Your thoughts are much appreciated :D**

**Alex is not on any side, though he is trying to even the stakes.**


	3. Chapter 3

The block of apartments, where they would live for the next month, was small and unremarkable with whitewashed walls and a bland carpet.

A twenty-year-old girl named Cathy was staying next-door to them. She said she'd come for a short holiday – a break from the guys in her college, who tended to run through the hallways naked. After some covert research, she'd figured that this was the least likely place they would want to go during their holidays.

Alex and Tom told her one of Tom's relatives was in the British military and had invited them to come. The three were soon chatting as if they'd known each other their whole lives. Soon Cathy invited them inside to continue their conversation without blocking the hallway.

It was when Cathy was reaching into a cupboard to get some mugs to make coffee in when they noticed it.

A group of teenage boys – Alex nudged Tom when he saw that it was the Cherubs – were ogling Cathy from a window opposite.

Noticing the males in her kitchen trying to hide their smirks towards the window, she turned around and gave the Cherubs a two-fingered salute, muttering under her breath, "Stupid perverts."

Instead of being deterred, the group of boys grinned even more, one going so far as to yell, "Aww, come on baby, give us a flash!"

Glaring, Tom got up from his seat in a flash of indignant rage and shut the blind.

"She's taken!" he shouted, baring his teeth – a typical act of a challenged male. Noticing the awkward silence that followed, he turned back to face Alex and Cathy, noticing her red cheeks and Alex's amused smile.

"Ahh. . . I didn't mean to say that. . . umm. . . _Are _you taken?" he managed to stutter.

Equally as embarrassed, she replied, "Well, not really. . . But I wouldn't mind if, you know, you wanted to maybe. . . start something?"

As if looking for advice or permission, Tom looked to Alex, who gave him a Look and a Nod, trying not to raise his eyebrows too high in disbelief.

Tom turned back to Cathy. "Um," he started, "Wouldyouliketogooutwithme? I mean. . . Do you want to, um, you know, hang out? A bit? While we're here?"

Lips curving upwards in amusement, Cathy agreed.

...

Later on, Tom and Alex returned to their apartment. As Tom lay back on the brown sofa in a foggy bliss facing the TV, the spy went to his room, brought out a bulging duffle bag and unzipped it. Ignoring Tom who was now staring in amazement at the gadgets and gizmos aplenty, he started to assemble a veritable network of cameras and bugs geared towards surveying the Cherubs.

This effort soon paid off, because just as Alex had finished plugging the last wire into the last speaker, a phone's ringtone played out through it. Eager for some action, Alex sat back.

A lady-Cherub answered the phone. "Hello?"

"This is Kazakov."

Tom perked up at hearing the name. After a few years of listening to military news, it was hard not to recognise the name. Kazakov was infamous within the military world. He'd served in Russia for more years than most and had been an Advisor for some of the most renowned tactical operations in the Balkans and Baghdad. Tom admired him almost as much as he did Alex.

From the phone conversation, they learned that the Cherubs were holding a strategy meeting in a quarter of an hour at Kazakov's lodgings.

Two more important bits of information quickly followed, as Tom and Alex followed one of the Cherubs on the screens linked to the cameras. Firstly, they learnt that Sergeant Cork, who had commanded the SAS during Alex's short stint with them, was working with Kazakov to run the insurgency. Alex grinned when he saw how friendly the Sergeant was with the two Cherubs. Clearly, Alex had changed him for the better.

The second thing they learnt was that the British were planning to use the roof of the Cherubs' apartment as a lookout. Alex had explored the buildings earlier, and decided to set up a camera there at the first chance, to eavesdrop on plans and figure out the Americans' patrol routes. He could use that information to plan attacks and send Tom on errands without being caught.

When Cork left, Alex sent Tom on his first task: to follow the Cherubs to their meeting with Kazakov. The excited teen complied immediately, after acting out the complex ritual that he called his 'happy-dance'.

Making sure no-one was watching, he walked casually out of the door, looking for all the world like a random stranger who just happened to be travelling in the same direction as the Cherubs.

When they stopped at one of the two dozen cafés at the end of the street – unprofessionally, Tom thought; you weren't supposed to pause on the way to a meeting – Tom stopped too and pretended to study the menu of a café across the road – which, incidentally, had a reflective window next to it.

While he did this, he was able to hear that the American soldiers were offering Reaganistan dollars to people with accurate information about the insurgents and weapons.

He also noted that the veggie samosas looked quite tasty, and seemed pretty cheap in Reaganistan dollars. Hey, any information is good information, right?

The Cherubs finally reached their destination at a large, beautiful, New Orleans style mansion, with a wrought-iron fence, hedges and a manicured green lawn. Tom wondered how it was kept so clean out in the desert. Maybe they had a bubble around the house that was really a portal to another world, or maybe they were all wizards in secret, solving the world's problems with a flick of their magic. . .

Dismissing these thoughts, he tossed a tiny contraption that, if found, would look like a dead insect, at the Cherub who was lagging behind. It hit the boy, sticking to his upper arm. Tom cackled evilly. How he loved throwing dead insects at people.

With the 'dead insect', Tom would be able to listen in on any conversations the boy participated in. He found an empty bench under the shade of a tree and took out his iPod and earphones. To an outside observer, he would look like a normal college student listening to music; really, he would be recording the plans of the insurgents.

". . . split insurgent operations into three cells," Kazakov's voice stated.

"The Sarge and I are the only contact points between them. Cell One is already working to create a secure environment for Mac. Cell Two consists of the majority of the SAS team, who will be working with our eight hundred civilian sympathisers."

He went on to explain that the insurgents would also be bribing people, and elaborated on the aims of the other two cells. Cell Two, most of the SAS, would be working with civilians and harassing the American soldiers, while Cell Three, the Cherubs, would be attacking the American base. Tom made a note that the insurgents were already spying on the Americans and would be striking the base at night.

When he thought the Cherubs had finished, Tom gleefully left the area and returned to Alex, a suspicious and frightening grin lighting up his face.

...

The supermarket at Fort Reagan was much like any other in America – a single storey building with aisles and shelves. The floor was dove-grey linoleum and as two young men entered, one scuffed his shoes on the newly-made floor slightly. The store attendants glared.

"Why do they hate me, Alex?" The first asked, cheeks red in embarrassment.

Alex, looking faintly amused (though he would never betray his friend by laughing at his plight), said he didn't know. "It might be because your shoes leave black stains on their beautiful, clean floors," he guessed.

Tom shook his head. "Nah, I doubt it. My shoes are white."

Alex conveniently forgot to mention that the soles of Tom's shoes were most definitely not white. They continued their quest to find the object they had come for.

Eventually, after tirelessly searching many aisles, they found it. They grabbed a few boxes of it and headed towards the checkouts, as if the hounds of hell were on their heels. With the speed of a lightning bolt, they paid for the product and left.

Tom sighed in relief when they stopped for a rest outside the shop.

"Those store attendants were going to eat me," he whispered conspiringly.

...

The two men enjoyed the relaxing atmosphere of Fort Reagan, participating in parties with Cathy and chatting with the American soldiers. Tom found it amusing to admire their weapons, and Alex stayed in the background, acting like an apathetic teenager. He wondered how the soldiers would react when they discovered the Cherubs. He almost wanted tell them so he could see their reactions. Almost.

Tom and Alex continued watching the Cherubs. That night, they followed the insurgents to an attack. Making sure they weren't spotted by either soldiers or their quarry, they made their way to an empty building designed to look like an abandoned shop.

Alex had brought some prank items chosen specially by Tom, and while listening to the Cherubs' plans, had devised the perfect retaliation for the laxatives the Cherubs were going to put into the soldiers' water. Explain this in the actual scene – don't ruin the suspense for the reader.

...

The two friends walked along, carrying a stuffed backpack. Following the route that the boy-Cherub and the Sergeant had taken just before, Alex and Tom entered the concrete facilities building. It was dark inside, with the acrid smell of burning materials hanging in the air. The eerie buzzing of the generator surrounded them and drowned out any sound they might have made. Tom rubbed his hands together gleefully.

Quickly, he unzipped the backpack they had brought and pulled out the boxes of sodium bicarbonate from the supermarket. With the Swiss Army knife that he always carried, he sliced the boxes open, tipping the contents into the large water tank that supplied the Americans with water.

The liquid in the tank didn't turn pink, as the Phenolphthalein capsules hadn't dissolved yet, but they soon would and the Americans would quickly notice the change in colour. Tom cheered quietly and shared a look of triumph with Alex, who smiled evilly. They replaced the now-empty boxes back into Tom's backpack and scuttled out the door. Alex hoped the Americans had another source of water. If not, they were screwed.

Oh well, it wasn't _his_ problem.

...

As James made his way through the dark alleyways of Fort Reagan's 'shanty town', he was stopped by two dark figures cutting across his path. He tried to move around them, but the shorter one reached out and grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip.

"Woah, dude, calm down! I'm not doing anything to you," he exclaimed, hoping to get them to leave him alone. He still had to call Kazakov on the radio, to tell him the water-attack was done, and to ask for his next orders.

The figure didn't let go. The other took a step closer, looming over him. James stumbled backwards, nearly wrenching his arm out of its socket. He thought quickly, trying to remember the lessons he'd been taught during training. How did one escape an arm grip, again?

"Don't worry, we aren't here to hurt you." The taller figure's voice, laced with amusement, chilled him to the core. Combined with the wide grin on the other guy's face, which was illuminated by the light of the moon, the two made a frightening pair.

"We just want to give you a message." The shorter one was speaking now, his voice higher. James was reminded of the many horror movies he'd watched, which included _Children of the Corn _and _The Pit. _After watching those movies, he'd never seen little kids the same way again.

"What do you want to tell me?" he asked, hoping his voice didn't quaver too much.

"Tell Kazakov the Sarge should've known a Cub would come to even the odds."

With this cryptic message, the strange duo left James, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as they had come. He could almost hear their laughter as he struggled to hold the walkie-talkie in his shaking hands.

* * *

><p><strong>Synchro lover: No, it was the civilians coming to Reaganistan to act as 'citizens' for the soldiers to protect.<strong>

**Chris and Se7enFreaker: I was going to write Alex as a teen, but then I realised he probably would not have been allowed to go off on his own with Tom. I also doubted that Reaganistan would allow under-eighteens to enter without adult supervisors.**

**To everyone else: Thanks for all the reviews! And don't worry, peeps, Cathy is only a fling. Nothing life-changing.**


	4. Chapter 4

Lauren was with Kazakov when James called. The Ukrainian had been gleeful since the attack on the drones, and when he heard James whispering on the radio, he immediately answered.

"How's it going?"

"Th-The goods are in place, but we had to f-fight our way out. Sarge g-got shot and I'm gonna need some b-backup out here to make it home."

Bemused by the boy's clear fear, Kazakov thought for a moment, before shaking his head. "Negative. We don't need you here and you could easily be followed in the dark. It's best to steer clear of the apartments until daylight."

Lauren rolled her eyes when James asked what he could do in the meantime. He was always complaining that he was bored, except on missions; then he complained about the arduousness of it all.

"Use your initiative; I've got enough on my plate. Kazakov over and –"

"Wait!"

Kazakov sighed. "Yes?"

"Something weird happened just before. Two guys stopped me. Knew about you and the Sarge. They said to pass on a message."

Kazakov stared at the radio for a moment, eyebrows bunching together. "What was it?"

"They said that, um. . . 'Sarge should know a cub who's come to even the odds.' Or something like that."

Frowning, Kazakov ended the communication with a succinct, "Kazakov out."

"I saw something weird today, too," Lauren said hesitantly.

Kazakov turned so quickly, it was obvious he'd forgotten Lauren was there.

"I was at the shops, buying some food, and I saw two guys – about twenty, I think – buy a trolley full of boxes of soda-bicarb."

Kazakov looked blankly at her, then a look of dread stole its way across his face.

"It's an alkali," he said softly, "And Phenolphthalein's an indicator!"

Now it was her turn to look blank.

He repeated this nonsensical phrase once again, but this time his jaws were clenched. His hand, which had automatically curled into a fist, banged against his leg. "Go to bed," he growled at her, eyebrows drawn furiously together.

Not wanting to anger him any more than he already was, she complied.

...

At 4AM the next morning, Kazakov was still acting strangely. He'd praised Kevin for his spying work, and his mouth had squeezed into a thin, tight line when Meryl asked about the water-supply prank.

However, his mood soon lifted when they watched a recording from one of Kazkov's cameras in the office of General Shirley. The man's red face and aggravated yelling made for a very funny show.

Sadly, Kazakov's good mood was not to last.

On the fuzzy screen, the Cherubs watched as another voice sounded across the room.

"General, we're receiving reports that the water has turned pink. The men are refusing to drink or shower in it."

The General smiled. It was not a pretty smile. Lauren wasn't sure, but she thought she saw the pot plant on the windowsill wither a bit.

"It seems the insurgents aren't as clever as we thought. This is obviously a failed prank of theirs. Get a troop to start filling up containers of civilian water. We'll use that instead."

The screen went black as Kazakov pulled out the plug, scowling now from the General's insult.

"We attack tonight."

...

At dawn, James was woken by Gabrielle and Lauren, who had come to collect him. To his chagrin, he was teased mercilessly by the two when they discovered him surrounded by cards and card-counting books. To distract them, he asked how things were going. They informed him of Kazakov and General Shirley's matching bad moods, as well as the recruitment of more than sixty college kids to the insurgent side. It looked like free cookies really did work, after all.

Once the news was shared, the two girls waited while James changed back into the civilian clothing they'd brought. When he was done, they headed off towards Kazakov's house, stopping at a small supermarket on the way.

They were walking to the checkouts when James heard a voice he remembered, and Lauren recognised the figure that came with it. Hoping to get some juicy news, they waited, pretending to be examining the prices of various chocolate bars.

"…and we found out about an attack."

"What was it?"

This person was new to Lauren, but James recognised her as the girl he'd leered at on the first day. He scowled in memory of her rejection of him, but continued to listen.

"Well, they were going to put Phenolphthalein in the soldiers' water – you know what that is, right? – and Alex remembered it from school. We followed them and chucked bicarb-soda in after!"

This triumphant boast was followed by laughter.

Thinking they'd heard enough, the Cherubs left the store.

...

Later that afternoon, the Cherubs received a call from Mac. Mac reprimanded James for participating in the water sabotage operation, as he thought it wasn't fair, so James admitted its failure. James was ashamed, but Mac was satisfied and left it at that. James also mentioned the message from 'Cub'.

To the Cherubs' surprise, one of Mac's SAS bodyguards laughed when he heard the name.

"Cub? That runt? He couldn't even hurt a fly, let alone sabotage an attack."

Another bodyguard spoke up. "No, remember that time we had to rescue a guy, and when we came he was snowboarding down the mountain on an ironing board? That was Cub."

"Really?"

Now it seemed almost all of them had an opinion on 'Cub'.

"I heard from my cousin who's in the Australian SAS that he met Cub. The higher ups wanted him tested, and they made him walk through a minefield in the dark! Then he canoed down a waterfall in the sleeper of a plane!"

The soldiers ooh-ed and ahh-ed appreciatively. The Cherubs weren't sure whether this was truth or exaggeration. Probably the latter.

Even so, all rumours have an element of truth in them. This 'Cub' must have been quite impressive to have made a name for himself among Britain's elite. It would probably be sensible to be cautious with him. Just in case.

Just as they were beginning to doubt the professionalism of the soldiers, Kazakov's voice piped up on the walkie-talkies. "I need bodies. Thirty-three beer kegs and ten cases of vodka ain't gonna shift themselves."

* * *

><p><strong>laurencracefan: Congratulations on being the first to review last chapter. It was a great suprise to see a review so soon after updating! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that I did everyone's reactions justice. :)<strong>

**Se7enfreaker: Woops! I completely forgot about Jerry. . . Hehe. I'm glad you're happy nonetheless.**


	5. Chapter 5

The party Kazakov had arranged as a distraction was huge. Rock music blared through speakers, deafening those who got too close. Food was being served and fireworks exploded. The drunken crowd showed their approval of this every so often, yelling "IN-SUR-GENTS" loudly, though it often came out as 'nshurrgenz'.

James, Gabrielle and Lauren ignored this, and made their way over to Kazakov. He'd regained his victorious mood and was listening to a bug in General Shirley's office. The Ukrainian looked up as they entered.

"What is it?"

"Well," Gabrielle started, after not-so-gentle prodding from her fellow Cherubs, "We heard some people in the shops today, when we were coming back with James."

Kazakov perked up. "Yes?"

Lauren continued. "It was one of the guys who sabotaged the water-operation."

She looked at James. He complied. "He's at the party now. Do you want to question him?"

Kazakov bared his teeth. "Yes, very much. Bring him to me."

...

Tom was dancing with Cathy when three teenagers came towards them. Before he could move away, they grabbed him and led him away. He tried to wriggle away, but their grips were like steel and it was futile. He sighed in resignation as they led him to a small concrete shack, where they were met by the man he knew as 'Kazakov'.

Kazakov did not look like he was there for a nice chat. His teeth were bared in a bloodthirsty grin and his eyes were sparkling with a menacing sense of insanity. It reminded Tom of that time Alex had had too much. . . But that's for another time. He looked over Tom's reluctant visage, and then nodded to the Cherubs, acknowledging them for their work. He seized Tom from them and entered the shack.

...

Meanwhile, Cathy was still standing outside, worried for Tom. The teenagers that had taken him looked awfully fit, and the expressions on their faces . . . well, they certainly weren't happy with him. Tom had warned her that there were kids in Reagan, kids who weren't normal. He'd warned her they might retaliate.

And now they had. They'd taken Tom to a nasty looking man, who looked as though he'd just come out of a war. The man had taken Tom roughly, and Cathy had seen him fingering a rod in his back pocket that she suspected was a weapon of some kind.

She had to save Tom.

But how?

Cathy racked her memory, trying to remember anything that could help. For a few painful seconds, all she could see in her mind was the grizzled man, and his rod.

Then, just as she was about to abandon all hope, she remembered.

Alex.

Tom had told her that if she was ever in trouble, she was to find Alex. He would help her.

Satisfied with her solution, she headed off.

...

The building was warm on the inside. A naked bulb buzzed as it flickered on and off. The air was humid and sticky, and made Tom's clothes cling to him. Roughly, Kazakov pushed him down on a rickety wooden chair in the middle of the room and tied him to it with zip ties. Tom would have laughed at the cliché if he hadn't been so anxious.

"You've been very naughty," Kazakov started, growling the words until they were almost intelligible.

"You thought you were clever, didn't you? You and that blonde English friend of yours. Cub, I believe his name was. Did you really think I wouldn't mind, hm?"

Tom scowled at him. Fine words butter no parsnips, as his gran used to say. It was so obvious Kazakov had prepared this little speech earlier. 'Very naughty'? 'I believe his name was'? Puh-lease. The suspense was almost worse than torture, he thought . . . until he saw what Kazakov was planning to use on him.

"You know what this is, don't you?" He held up the long rod.

"It's a picana. Adapted from the humble cattle prod, I thought it'd be rather suitable for you."

With this, he lightly touched Tom on his knee with the picana. Involuntarily, the young man's limb jerked and he yelped in pain.

Tom wondered how long it would take Cathy to find Alex and bring help.

...

Amongst the partying people, Cathy found Alex, talking to a person she'd never seen before. It was a girl, and the two were tightly entwined around each other. As she watched, Alex bent his head and nibbled gently on the girl's ear lobe.

The girl giggled.

Cathy approached them, but Alex looked up, gave a tiny headshake as if to say, 'Not now, I'm a bit preoccupied,' and deftly moved himself and the girl away, where they were instantly swallowed by the crowd.

Sighing in exasperation, Cathy followed.

When she next found him again, she made sure to show the worry she was feeling on her face. Alex stared at her, a displeased expression on his face, but eventually got the message, and he gestured her to follow as he excused himself from the girl, and headed over to the food stand.

...

Tom groaned, though not in pain. No, this time he was groaning in impatience and boredom. He was never made to sit down for so long, doing nothing! He was meant to run free with the buffalos! To Tom, there was more to see than could ever be seen, more to do than could ever be – ahem. Tom was bored.

At least that prodding thing provided him with some . . . well, he couldn't really called it entertainment, but Kazakov definitely could – and was. And if he was happy, who was Tom to complain about his situation?

"What do you want?" he moaned.

Kazakov looked down at him, grinning madly.

"You to suffer."

And the pain began.

...

Alex and Cathy rushed towards the shack.

They stopped, out of breath in front of a row buildings. Yellow, yellow, yellow . . . They were all exactly the same.

"Which one?" Alex wheezed.

Cathy looked at him, dismay clear on her face.

"I don't know!"

...

Meanwhile, Kazakov was having a wonderful time.

Tom, not so much.

Kazakov had finished his monotonous monologue, and had moved onto poetry.

He appeared to have taken inspiration from Douglas Adams – the effect was rather similar to that of Vogon prose, when combined with the white-hot touch of the picana.

Tom yelled.

...

Alex and Cathy paused, hearing Tom's high-pitched scream. That couldn't be – could it?

With equally worried eyes, they turned to each other.

"Tom," they chorused, and rushed off

...

Tom groaned when the pain finally stopped.

Kazakov had eventually run out of prose, but had decided that electrocuting Tom without the poetry was just as effective, and required much less hard work on his part.

Out of the black haze that had settled over his vision, he saw a blurry vision of Alex, tiptoeing towards Kazakov.

Alex was moving very slowly. Obviously, he didn't want Kazakov to know he was there.

There was no need for silence, though, as Kazakov had begun ranting loudly, with veins popping out of his temples.

"I am a hard man to play with. Do not take me lightly. I will give you pain your body has never experienced before!" He touched the picana to Tom's left arm lightly.

In the back of his mind, Tom felt the zip-ties cut into his flesh as he involuntarily strained against his bonds.

Kazakov continued. "This rod will penetrate your nervous system and you will scream in pain. Your limbs will throb in agony when I am done with you!"

Tom really panicked now – even if it was a prepared speech, the delivery was still pretty intense. As was the cattle prod – he jerked again as he felt the pain again. This time it seemed to emanate from his stomach.

"Your bones will break from your muscle spasms. . ." Kazakov leered, eyes wide, towards Tom and slowly, so as to let Tom know it was coming, brought the picana closer and closer.

Tom's breath caught as he saw where it was headed. Lower than before, it would collide with his flesh in a place that would surely make him have the voice of a girl for life.

Thankfully, though, Alex raised his arms and brought them down, hitting Kazakov on the head from behind. The man dropped immediately with a dull thump, his impassioned words and advancing rod drawing to a halt, the rod clattering on the floor.

Tom sighed in relief. He still had his deep, rich voice to charm the ladies.

Alex cut the ropes and helped Tom off the chair, taking care not to bump his friend. Tom, wincing in pain as he moved, rubbed his sore wrists and made a face at Alex.

"I knew you'd come, my prince," he grinned. Ah, the joys of a male voice.

Alex rolled his eyes.

Tom watched silently as Alex tied Kazakov up, using new zip-ties from his pocket. He wondered if zip-ties were common in the pockets of agents.

...

Alex helped Tom outside to Cathy, where he seemed to recover surprisingly fast. Sure that his friend would be okay, he moved away from the beaming couple.

When he was alone, he pulled out his mobile phone, and dialled a number. The phone gave three rings before someone answered.

"General Shirley? I'm calling to let you know Kazakov is tied up in a concrete shack at the party. He planned an attack for tonight, so I'd advise you to move from your office.

"His people will probably attack there first. Watch out – they're kids. Don't underestimate them. They put Phenolphthalein into the water. My associate and I helped you with that, but now you know about the kids, I reckon it's pretty even.

"Who am I? Three clues. Clue one: I'm quite a – aw, he hung up."

He hung up the phone, feeling dejected. No one wanted to play his games anymore.

...

It was almost time. They just had to regroup and figure out how to attack without Kazakov leading them, occupied as he was by the saboteurs. No one wanted to interrupt him during that.

The plan was to send a posse of two hundred insurgents to the military compound's front gates, after sending two pairs of SAS men into the base to soften things up. While this took place, Bruce, Rat, Jake and Gabrielle, along with a small team of insurgents and an SAS officer, would attack the main arsenal. Kevin and Lauren were planning on entering the ventilation shafts and bombing General Shirley's office with a grenade.

"Come on," Kevin urged, impatient for some action, "Let's go, already!"

The others just muttered at him for being impatient.

"Remember," he continued, excited, "we've got to do this together. For Kazakov! For CHERUB!"

More aroused, the others mustered up smiles, Rat going so far as to give a little cheer.

Eventually, they finished their preparation, and turned towards him. Eagerly, he started to set off, pausing only to wish them a hasty "Good luck."

To Lauren, he gestured to follow him.

However, only a few steps after, a hand landed on his shoulder. He froze, eyes widening.

Kevin turned around to see a bulky, thickset soldier grinning down at him while hefting a large rifle. He shrunk back, wondering what was going on.

"The party's over. Go home," the soldier said menacingly.

"Er, what?" He protested, thinking rapidly. "We're already going, er, home. . ."

The soldier raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

Kevin wilted.

"Uh, uh, oh, okay," he stammered. "Come on, guys."

He turned around again, to see that the others had all left, under the gazes of several more smirking soldiers.

So much for sticking together.

From behind him, the soldier was chuckling. It grated on his nerves, full of dismissive humour.

"Guess your friends aren't as nice as you thought they were," the man said in a patronising voice.

Kevin twisted his head to glare at the soldier.

"We're just taking another route," he said stiffly.

It was obvious the soldier didn't believe him.

So, with a less than gentle nudge from the man's rifle, he stalked off.

As his figure faded into the distance, the soldiers looked at each other.

"Is that it?" one of them said in disappointment; they'd all been anticipating the kids to put up more of a fight.

The leader shrugged.

"Guess so."

There was a short, but not quite awkward pause.

"So, Dave. . . You still got some of that coffee at the base?"

Kazakov's great plan was ruined.

* * *

><p><strong>And the winner for quickest reviewer for last chapter is. . . *drumroll*. . . xDarklightx! Congratulations! XD<strong>

**Special mentions to Se7enFreaker: Thanks for all the non-standard reviews! They make me laugh. . .**

**Hope you enjoyed this story - only the epilogue is left, now!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Epilogue**

In a plane from America to England, two men laughed about a war game.

Probably one of those 'ex-boxes', mused their elderly neighbour. Silly things. How could you play with a box that was no longer a box? It didn't even make sense.

". . . so the Americans disbanded the crowd, and rounded up the Cherubs after they got Kazakov. The Cherubs are going to get sued for the damage they caused to the drones, but the Americans are pleased that their soldiers are up to standard."

"So what now?"

"Well, things go back to normal, I suppose."

A phone rang.

"Hello?"

"_Good morning, Mr Rider. Welcome back from America. Your mission, should you choose to accept it. . ."_

**FIN**

* * *

><p><strong>So. . . Who watched Eurovision? My personal favourites were Norway, Cyprus, Denmark, Iceland, Ireland, Italy and Moldova. How about you guys?<strong>


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